


To be okay

by chiara_scuro



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Cuddling, Day 11: fluff, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27898534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiara_scuro/pseuds/chiara_scuro
Summary: Baz always looks good, but there’s a difference between Baz who puts on a posh shirt and and shoes that cost more than my rent and Baz, who’s sitting at my desk wearing trackies with his hair pulled up in a messy bun. He looked softer this way. More mine. Baz gives a lot on his appearance so not a lot of people see him like this. It feels like a piece of himself that he only trusts certain people with.I’m glad I’m one of those people.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 14
Kudos: 96
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2020





	To be okay

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!   
> This is my work for the 11th day of the Carry On Countdown. The prompt was fluff, which we all love  
> Much like Baz, I'm very much being crushed by university work, so I wrote this in a crunch and haven't had the time to get it beta read. Please forgive me for any grammar mistakes!

SIMON

It’s hard not to look at Baz when he’s studying. I’ve done it before, at Watford, but that’s when I thought he was up to something. Now I just think he looks nice. (I thought so back then too, but I didn’t realize it.)

He’s sucking on his fangs again as he goes through his notes and he looks so pretty like this. I mean, Baz always looks good, but there’s a difference between Baz who puts on a posh shirt and and shoes that cost more than my rent and Baz, who’s sitting at my desk wearing trackies with his hair pulled up in a messy bun. He looked softer this way. More mine. Baz gives a lot on his appearance so not a lot of people see him like this. It feels like a piece of himself that he only trusts certain people with.

I’m glad I’m one of those people.

“Stop staring at me, Snow, I can’t focus,” Baz snaps, not looking up from his notebook.

“Can’t help it. You look good,” I mumble. He doesn’t look up from his notebook, but I see a faint blush spread across his face and he smiles, then shakes his head, like he’s trying to chase his smile away. (He looks pretty when he smiles.)

“Honestly,” he rolls his eyes, still smiling. (So pretty.)

“Honestly, darling, you’re well fit,” I say. I know he has work to do and I almost feel bad for distracting him, but at the same time, I love Baz’s reaction to me complimenting him. Calling him darling. I haven’t done it much before – I haven’t really been a good boyfriend to him. I’m trying to catch up, even if I’m pure shite with words. Sometimes I say things and Baz just laughs, but I catch him averting his eyes, which is pretty much the vampire equivalent of a blush. (He does blush too, when he has the blood. It’s just about the cutest thing.) (I never thought I’d call Baz Pitch _cute_ but his blush certainly is.)

Baz sighs. “Simon, as much as I’d love to flirt with you, I have to finish revising this unit by tonight.”

“I know, I know,” I nod and swing my legs off the bed. “I’m going to make myself a sandwich. Do you want one too?” I ask.

“No.”

“Alright.” I drop a kiss on the top of his head before leaving the room.

I decide to give Baz some privacy because I don’t want to actually distract him from his work. (Well, I do. But I know how important academic success is to Baz.) The only reason he’s studying at my flat in the first place is because his aunt was playing her music too loud. It feels unfair to be distracting him when the only reason he’s here is to avoid distractions.

I make myself a sandwich and then another and then I lounge on the sofa, alternating between scrolling on social media, playing games on my phone and thinking about Baz.

Things have gotten better for us. They’d gotten a lot worse after we got from America, but I think our relationship nearly coming to an end was the wake up call I needed to get help. It’s still a work in progress and there are still days when I don’t want him to see me or to touch me, but they’re getting more far and in between now.

Baz has been really patient about the whole thing. Patient and kind and understanding and _wonderful_. He said our relationship being messed up was on him too, because he didn’t know how to support me, but he’s been great even when I was shit to him. Even when I used to spend whole days on the sofa, drinking cider and feeling sorry for myself. Really, I’d probably be much worse if I was in his situation.

My heart aches when I think about it. I love him so much.

BAZ

I’ve never been this stressed over schoolwork in my life. I enjoy studying – I’m good at it – but this is too much. My brain feels like overcooked pasta. It’s felt like this for a few days now.

Only nine more pages of revision left and I can stop for the night and go cuddle Simon on the sofa. I assume that’s where he is, since he hasn’t come back from his sandwich break yet. He’s probably giving me space to study, which I desperately need right now, but I also miss his presence.

Just as if on cue, as if I’ve somehow summoned him with my yearning, the bedroom door falls open and not a moment later, a familiar pair of arms wraps around me.

“I love you,” he mutters in my shoulder, then presses a kiss on my cheek. My heart stutters in my chest, but before I can say it back, he’s already leaving the room.

Aleister Crowley, Simon Snow is definitely going to kill me. Did he come back just to tell me that?

I don’t think I’ve ever been more in love.

Suddenly, I get a new wave of motivation to push through my studying, just so that I can pepper his ridiculous face with kisses as soon as possible.

Right.

Nine more pages.

SIMON

A text message flies in just as I settle myself on the sofa again.

**BP [20:37]: I love you too  
BP [20:37]: I have 9 pages left. If I don’t make it out of your room in the next 30 minutes, assume that I’ve died  
BP [20:38]: And also promise me that you’ll still love me 30 minutes from now  
BP [20:38]: For motivation purposes**

I smile at his texts.

**SS [20:38]: I’ll still love u 30 mins from now hon**  
SS [20:38]: once u get thru those 9 pages we can watch shitty telly and cuddle  
SS [20:39]: hows that for motivation? 

**BP [20:39]: As appealing as it can be, given that your grammar is atrocious**

I roll my eyes and start scrolling on my Instagram again.

Baz emerges from my room nearly forty minutes later, looking very tired. He groans and crawls on top of me, burying his face in the crook of my neck. My arms come up around him, stroking his back.

“Alright, darling?” I ask, my fingers instinctively coming up to take down his bun. I drop the hair tie on the coffee table and start brushing through his hair.

“My brain cells are fried. I’m not sure I remember my full name, but at least I know all the different strategies of debt management,” he sighs.

“You’re going to ace your exam,” I tell him. He just sighs again.

“Put something on that isn’t mentally taxing,” he says, then groans.

“What?”

“ _Taxes_.”

I laugh at him. “That bad?”

“Worse.”

“Is The Great British Bake Off alright?” I ask. He sighs contently and nuzzles into my shoulder.

“Bake Off is great.”

We’re about halfway through the episode when I hear soft snoring coming from my side. I turn my head away from the telly and see Baz fast asleep on my shoulder.

My heart feels full of warm feelings as I watch him. A year ago, I would’ve never thought we’d get in a place where we’re this secure. I wished for it, yes, but I thought it wasn’t possible. Not for me, anyway.

I used to believe I couldn’t give Baz what he wanted, but as it turns out, Baz just wants this. He wants me, even if it isn’t always perfect. Even if we still fight and struggle to communicate and even if I still close off sometimes.

In the end, he just wants the same thing I do; for us to be okay.

My therapist says recovery isn’t linear and some days I feel like everything I’ve achieved has gone down the drain. Sometimes I just want to curl up on the sofa and stop existing again, because everything gets _too much_ and I don’t think I _can_ get better.

But I can damn well try. For Baz. For Penny. For moments like these, when we can just _be okay_. When we can just curl up on the sofa and fall asleep watching Bake Off, no insecurities or anxieties attached. Or when I can be the one offering comfort and security to Baz and not the other way around.

I carefully brush a strand of hair out of his face and he stirs and opens his eyes.

“Hey,” I say softly. He just mumbles something and nuzzles his face in my neck, his arms tightening around me. (I love Baz when he’s sleepy. He gets a little incoherent and it’s a welcome change.) “We should probably go to bed,” I continue.

“Bake Off,” he murmurs.

“You’re clearly not watching it.”

“You are.”

“Alright, come on,” I say, pushing at his shoulder. He grumbles and pulls himself closer to me, so that he’s practically laying on top of me. I laugh. “Come on, you twit, let’s get you to bed.”

“Bake Off,” he objects.

“Tired boyfriend,” I retaliate. “I’ve already seen this episode anyway.”

“I can’t believe you’re watching Bake Off without me,” he pouts. I laugh and press a kiss on his forehead and he angles his head up, catching my lips in a kiss.

I love kissing Baz when he’s sleepy. It’s slow and soft and sometimes, he just lays there and lets me press a thousand little pecks to his lips.

I want to do that now, but he should get some rest.

“Come on,” I say, pulling away. “Sleep.”

BAZ

Spending the night at Simon’s has become a common enough occurrence that I keep a set of pyjamas in his drawers and a toothbrush under his sink. I was planning on going back to my flat after I’m done studying (damn Fiona and her love for punk), but Simon said I’m too tired and I’m not going anywhere tonight. (That made my heart flutter more than it should.)

I _am_ very tired. I’m waiting for Simon to get out of the shower and struggling to keep my eyes open. I’m not usually this tired, but this exam period is rough and staying on top of my class is a struggle.

I’m just looking through all the memes Simon’s sent me on Instagram while I was studying (I’m glad he wasn’t bored) when he comes back from the bathroom, smelling all fresh and with his hair still damp.

I used to think I wasn’t allowed to look at him like this. I used to think I’d never get an ending where Simon Snow would smile softly and then crawl into bed with me and wrap his arms around me and press a kiss on my shoulder.

I’m truly living a charmed life.

He turns off the light and nudges at me to roll over, sliding his arm around my middle and pressing himself flush against my back. I lay my hand over his and he sighs contently.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispers, his breath warm against the back of my neck.

“Well, _somebody_ wouldn’t let me go home,” I say, squeezing his hand so that he’ll know I’m joking.

“No, I mean… here. As in, I’m so glad we’ve somehow made it to the point where we can be _here_ and be okay, y’know?”

“Simon…” I turn around in his arms to look at him. (It’s dark but I have vampire vision.)

“I mean, I’ve been shit to you—”

“You haven’t,”

“—and you still stayed and I’m just… really glad you did.”

My hand reaches out to stroke his cheek and he leans into my touch. “I would. I always would. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” I whisper. I’m not normally this soft (some things are supposed to go poetically unsaid), but he deserves to know. (And Simon doesn’t always pick up on things that are poetically unsaid. Just like with everything, he prefers a direct approach.)

He shakes his head.

“No. You are, Simon. And I’m not going to leave you. You don’t ever have to worry about that.”

I see a faint smile spread across his face. “Actually, lately I’ve been feeling less…” he pauses, choosing his words. “Less like a fuck up? And more like I might actually deserve good things in life.”

Hearing that makes me so happy I could cry. I knew he was getting better, slowly, but surely, but it just feels so good to hear him say it. I pull him closer to me, holding him tightly. (Maybe too tightly, but he doesn’t complain.)

“You do, Simon. Every last bit of it,” I assure him. “I love you so much,” I say. And then I kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

> [I have a tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vampire-named-gampire)


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